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Poems and Lovelorn Thoughts, Vol. X


I find myself wandering, these days —

Wandering — here — here where it’s

Wet and strange — here —

Where space feels like smallness,

Cavernous as a Maybe

And dark as a dream —


Still as a scream — Here, here

Where I am — following Traces of Gold

In the Cracks in the Walls,

Skipping stones on the puddles,

The ciphers, the Ribbons of quartz —

Here where it feels like a Flickering out

Of Time —

And Yes —

And No —


Here, slipping, sliding away —

Those eyes — slipping — away —

Buried here, somewhere here —

Making space feel like smallness,

Cavernous as a Maybe

And dark as a dream.


One can only hope,


Breathe in the day —

Spider up dexterously into

The gossamer star-nets,

Dark blue, gauzy, and damp

As cottonball tears —

One can only sink down

On the uncut grass, the green,

This — Life — grab the blades

In fists — and hold on, hold on

For dear life, oh dear life —

Oh my Dear —

One can only

Lie in bed,

Blink, blink, blink until the

Blinking feels like sleep,

And breathing steadies itself into

The holiest of

Silent, fearful prayers.


One can only hope,

And that’s — Enough.

Soft Spot

All it takes

Is a Look

From those Eyes —

Rosy, wide, afraid —

And the Spot

Swells into

Color and Roses

And Light.


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